


Undead Reign

by teacupbirds (Clockworkpulse)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Arthur Is Not Sick, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Clemens Point, Cowboys, F/M, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Mild Gore, Slow Burn, cause zombies, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockworkpulse/pseuds/teacupbirds
Summary: Everything changed when the dead started walking. As if the life of an outlaw wasn't complicated and difficult enough.





	Undead Reign

**Author's Note:**

> Rockstar might not give us an Undead Nightmare for RDR2. So I'm gonna write it myself with a dash of self indulgent shipping.

From their very inception, things had been difficult. They'd always had their ups and downs...mostly downs, but they always found a way to get back on their feet. Being a criminal wasn’t exactly a glamorous life for most, especially when it involved dodging and being one step ahead of the law all the time but they managed because they had Dutch and Dutch always had a plan. These plans varied in success and even when they went to shit they all trusted him. Why wouldn’t they?

Dutch van der Linde was the charismatic sort. Like a snake oil merchant, Arthur had heard somebody say once many years ago when he was not much older than sixteen. Dutch could convince you of anything, to accept whatever he said no matter how much like a pile of crap it sounded and honestly, it worked. It had helped the gang several times when their morale was low. No matter how much they lost, Dutch brought them back up. He kept them going, allowed them to persevere and survive in a world that was beginning to have no place for outlaws anymore.

That all went out the window and up in flames the day the dead started to rise. It hadn’t happened all at once. No, it had been something of a slow build at first. An incident in Tumbleweed over in New Austin where some saloon patron ripped the throat out of another, his skin all rotted and eyes glazed over.

They didn’t hear about that occurrence until nearly a week later and by then more and more such stories were spreading all over the States and even some reports from Mexico. Small killings here and there until two weeks in there were reports of five or more of these strange dead looking folk in Strawberry and they were slowly making their way towards the eastern part of the continent. They were coming towards the gang and they had nowhere to go.

The good thing about being so far east from it all was the papers and stories from people who fled those areas bringing valuable knowledge with them, like how to kill these new enemies, to boil water before using any of it for any purpose, and that silent kills were best because noise drew them.

And suddenly, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the world had flipped on its head. The law had their hands full trying to keep people alive, they didn’t have much time to be chasing outlaws or petty criminals anymore.

People had grown desperate even as they did their best to defend their towns and cities and homesteads. Scavenging had just become a necessary part of life now, raiding homes or camps and the like for any small thing that could keep them alive a day or even a minute longer.

This wasn’t the land of cops and robbers anymore; it was the land of the scared and desperate.

And Dutch didn’t have a plan this time.

* * *

Their camp at Clemens Point had been rearranged. Their tents and wagons now formed two circles with the likes of Abigail and Jack and Dutch and Pearson and the girls and so on in the inner circle while the likes of Arthur and Charles and John and Javier and so on in the outer circle. It was to keep the others safe in case their camp had unwanted visitors both undead and alive; a line of defense between them and someone or something that wished them harm.

They had a type of security system in place as well. Not only did they still have watch shifts, but they had tied strings of rope from tree to tree, knots keeping things like old pots and pans and bells in place so if anything tripped the wire the camp would be alerted to it. Small parts of the barrier would be open to allow a horse through when need be but the rest of the time the perimeter was closed.

The only truly exposed part was an area facing the lake. Not enough trees to do a reliable rope system but that was fine. The fact that no dead seemed to emerge from any body of water was fortunate as much of the day was spent fetching water to boil and so they simply let it be.

In the mornings the girls and some of the men who didn’t have guard duty went back and forth from the lake to fill up buckets with water to put over one of the many fires in camp. They kept the flames going strong all morning and then dimmed them down to nearly embers at night so they’d remain hopefully undetected by outside sources, especially the dead.

The flames went all day most days, only being allowed to go out completely during the daytime when they had excess purified water. They always tried to aim for that though the most they really could stock pile was about two days’ worth. Three if they really stretched it.

All things considered, they were doing pretty well in the middle of the apocalypse. They had a constant source of water and though food tended to teeter on the edge lately they always managed to have just enough to eat thanks to Arthur’s daily hunts.

Yes, daily. After helping around camp in the early hours of the day, he would saddle up Hades and ride out to spend time hunting. He never went too far; he didn’t want to travel further from camp than strictly necessary in case anything were to happen.

With everything that needed getting done in camp and them focusing so much manpower on keeping the space safe, they simply couldn’t spare more than Arthur leaving to hunt for food for the time being and that left their food stores in a bit of a sad state that required the everyday hunts to keep the many bellies in the camp full. If lady luck was on their side then perhaps soon something would work out for them and they wouldn’t have to worry so much about if they would have enough to eat.

Arthur did his best to get as much food as he could. Tried to find a doe or a nice sized buck when he went out but most days he’d only come back with a sad number of rabbits and maybe a squirrel or two.

It wasn’t so surprising. Animals had a sense about these things. They knew when something wasn’t right and though the dead seemed to ignore animals, it didn’t make them any less nervous and they had a knack for hiding. Upside for them was they stayed away from those damned things; downside was that it made getting any substantial amount of food difficult as hell which in turn affected the entire camp.

The gang was a family and Arthur was used to helping his family. The fact he couldn’t provide for them as well as he used to stung deeply but he was no quitter and he was going to make sure everybody stayed alive.

* * *

The soft shuffling of feet near his wagon is what woke him that morning. They were a month and a half into this apocalypse and the events of it all had taken its toll on some of them. Karen was drinking more than usual, Molly rarely came out of her and Dutch’s tent anymore, and Dutch, well…Dutch just wasn’t Dutch anymore. He was like some phantom now. He lost himself when it all started.

Dutch didn’t speak to anyone, he just wandered around the perimeter in an almost trance like state. Arthur would be lying if he said it didn’t scare the hell out of him. He’d never seen Dutch like that before and he didn’t like it, not one bit. They had tried talking to him, Arthur and Hosea, but the other didn’t seem to hear them.

They let him be now but everybody kept a close eye on Dutch just to be sure he didn’t wander off into the woods or suddenly lose his mind.

In Dutch’s absence, Arthur and Hosea had stepped up to coordinate things within the gang. They assigned guard shifts and chores and such, setting up a tight schedule so things ran smoothly and everybody got enough sleep so as not to suffer from sleep deprivation.

It hadn’t been perfect in the beginning. Oh, the schedules had worked fine but Arthur himself had been left exhausted much of the time in the first two weeks. He was up for about eighteen to twenty hours a day doing chores around Clemens Point, going out to hunt, coming back and taking care of anything and everything he could and relieving Hosea of his duties in the evening so the older man could rest. Sometimes he’d even take up a guard post until Charles firmly told him to go to sleep before he fell on his face.

He still did all that except take a watch post. Now when it got dark he just checked in with those currently on watch before hitting the hay. He hadn’t exactly changed his own schedule because he’d wanted to. No, it was because Hosea had lectured him about getting proper sleep like he was a boy again and like a boy, he didn’t want to argue or disappoint Hosea so he had listened. At least now he wasn’t so tired and could focus better when he went hunting.

Arthur cleared his throat as he brought his hat away from his face. The sun was just coming up and he could see Pearson lighting the main fire from where he lay. Tilly passed by with a bucket in her hand, heading for the lake to begin the daily duty of water collecting.

“Mornin’, Arthur,” she said softly, giving him a gentle smile.

“Mmm, mornin’ Tilly,” he responded, his voice still rough from sleep. He sat up and swung his legs around to plant his feet on the ground. _Another day of trying to survive in a world gone mad._

Maybe that was a bit morbid, putting it like that, but it was the truth, the very sad and very real truth.

After shoving his feet into his boots, Arthur made his way straight for the coffee pot which he knew would be brewing already. It was the first thing that water got used on in the day and he was grateful for it now more than ever.

Abigail was by the fire when Arthur arrived. Her tent was only a few feet away, keeping Jack close. She hated having him out of her sight and Arthur didn’t blame her, they had dead people and raiders roaming around all over the place now and while he knew bad things were roaming about, he was only four years old and incapable of truly understanding the full scope of the situation.

He still wanted to play and explore and while he could do both freely beforehand as long as he stayed close enough to their camp, now he couldn’t go anywhere without Abigail. And the rare times she let someone else keep an eye on him; she grew nervous and tended to hover in the background to make sure. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the others to look after him properly; she was just a protective mother.

In any other situation this might be seen as overprotective but Arthur didn’t think that word existed anymore with how things were going. In his opinion, Abigail was the proper amount of protective.

He and Abigail exchanged a nod as he went to pour himself a mug. The tin was always washed and set out in the night in preparation for the early risers.

“You know,” Abigail began; her voice loud enough that only Arthur could hear it. “I was thinkin’ on leavin’ awhile back. Things were gettin’ a little too dangerous and I don’t want this life for Jack. But I’m glad we stayed. If we had left, I’m not sure what would have happened to us. If somethin’ ever happened to Jack-”

“Hey now, don’t you go thinkin’ like that,” Arthur said, cutting her off before she could go down a dark road. “You’re both here and we’re gonna keep you and the boy safe.”

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“Course,” he said. He took a drink before speaking again, voice lower. “I’m glad you stayed too.”

Before Abigail could say anything, if she was going to say anything, Arthur heard footsteps approaching them. Since this whole thing started, he had begun to pick up on the minute differences between certain sounds. It was even more important now to always be aware of every little noise and how each differed from each other. These footfalls now were heavy but not too heavy. The owner didn’t put their full weight on their feet between steps.

Only two people had such heaviness to their walks in the gang and Bill was like a bull. He stomped more than walked and so that left only one person.

_Pearson_.

“Mr. Morgan, we have a bit of a problem.”

“You don’t give a man a chance to wake up properly, do ya?” Arthur asked, looking over his shoulder at the camp cook.

“It’s serious, Mr. Morgan,” Pearson said.

“Alright,” Arthur responded. “Catch ya later, Abigail.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

They didn’t walk far, just to Pearson’s wagon which stayed within about five feet of the main fire.

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” Pearson started, “but we are nearly out of food.”

“What? I thought we were doin’ okay.”

“And we were…for a while.”

“What do we have left?”

“Half a rabbit, three potatoes, two carrots, four bags of maize, a single bread roll, and five cans of salted offal.”

“Goddammit, Pearson, why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan, I was hoping you would come back with something big soon like a buck or a boar,” Pearson explained.

“How long do you think you can make what we got last?”

“Two days,” Pearson said. “Offal for breakfast today, the rest of the meat and vegetables for the stew later and I can use the maize for another two meals for tomorrow.”

Arthur’s lips flattened into a line. He had really thought they were doing fine, despite everything, but clearly they were not. He should have known. Should have known for two reasons, the first being that squirrels and rabbits didn’t actually go very far and second, he should have figured they were running dangerously low when he noticed the stew getting thinner and thinner with each passing day.

He’d have to start doing better than squirrel and rabbit to keep them going and for that, he’d have to press further out than he normally went these days if he hoped to find something bigger.

As much as he wanted to stay relatively nearby in case he was needed should anything occur while he was out, he’d have to take the risk. Take it or hope they could keep just brushing by on what he could scrounge up.

He wasn’t stupid as much as he wanted people to believe he was. Two days of food and if he stayed close they might get only three. He knew they wouldn’t survive like this. He made up his mind. Somebody else would just have to pick up his morning chores for him or wait for him to get back so he could handle them.

“I’ll get us something bigger,” he spoke at last. “See if I can find us some wild carrots and whatever else while I’m out too.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”

“No need to thank me.”

There really wasn’t. He was willing to do whatever he had to to keep the gang alive…to keep his family alive.

“I’ll head out now.” He took one last drink of his coffee before upending the mug and spilling the rest out. It was a waste and he hated to do it but it was best to leave as soon as possible considering he’d be going into different hunting territory. Hunting itself could take hours and he wanted to return before dark. That’s when the dead got especially active.

Pearson took the mug from him to place in the small fruit box for dirty dishes as Arthur went to his wagon to get ready for his departure.

He brushed his teeth as he searched through his clothes trunk for a fresh shirt. It might be the end times but Miss Grimshaw still didn’t want to see a soul in unwashed clothes. The one time he’d been out in a dirty shirt she had slapped him upside the head when he got back and told him to change and never to go out in dirty clothes again because, as she put it, ‘you were not raised in a barn, Arthur Morgan.’

He found a clean white shirt under his winter coat and a pair of dark trousers. Tucked under the shirt was a long strip of cloth. Wrapped up in the cloth were his spurs. Everybody who wore them in camp had taken them off and tucked them away in their clothing chests. They made too much noise and the point was to eliminate as much unnecessary sound as possible so as not to attract the dead.

He kind of missed wearing them but living was better than dying because of being an idiot and wearing something that might as well now be the equivalent of a dinner bell.

Arthur grabbed the shirt and closed the trunk. He dressed and finished brushing swiftly before collecting his gear.

He grabbed his two trusty revolvers, his knife, and the bow that Charles had given him some months ago.

The knife would be his main form of protection as it was silent. The guns were more for extreme circumstances. A last result sort of situation and he was lucky he’d never been in such a position yet. If he was really lucky he never would be.

He grabbed his hat last before heading to his horse. The dappled black thoroughbred was hitched next to Charles’s horse, Taima, who was loose. Hades dwarfed the smaller appaloosa but Taima was not in the least bit intimidated by the other horse’s size and they got along well. Actually they got on so well that they hated not being hitched or set loose together when the other was nearby. It was quite sweet, actually.

“How ya doin’, boy?” Arthur spoke softly as he ran a hand along the length of Hades’ neck. The horse snorted in return.

Arthur went about checking the saddle and making small adjustments. Kieran was always the first to rise in camp and so he saddled Hades up for Arthur in preparation for his daily departures. It was something Arthur had yet to thank him for but he would when he could and remembered to do so.

When he was satisfied with the saddle, he attached the bow and made to swing up into the saddle but stopped as he saw Jack approach. Abigail was standing not too far back.

“Are you leaving again, Uncle Arthur?” The boy looked worried.

“Just for a little while like I always do but I’ll be back soon. Why, what’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” the boy replied, voice barely above a whisper. “There are lots of bad things out there now.”

“Yeah, there is.”

“And the bad things hurt people.”

“Where did you hear that?” Arthur asked. While Jack knew about the bad things, they tried to keep quiet about most of it precisely so they didn’t scare the hell out of him. Yeah, he was a bit more cautious now and that was why they told him a little but they didn’t want to frighten him so much that he lost his playful and childish air. They already had enough grim bastards in camp as it was and he still deserved to just be a kid and so Arthur was annoyed now to hear somebody had said more than they should have around Jack.

“Bill.” He was gonna _kill_ Bill.

“They do,” Arthur sighed in response.

“What if you get hurt?”

“I ain’t gonna get hurt, Jack.” That was not something he should promise and he knew that but he didn’t want the boy worrying over him. It wasn’t his job to do so.

“But what if you do?”

“Here,” Arthur said and reached up to take his hat off. He placed it on Jack’s head, tipping it upwards so it didn’t fall in the boy’s face.

“Your hat?”

“Yep,” he said with a nod. “You keep this and then I got to come back safe and sound so I can get it back. Okay?”

“Okay, Uncle Arthur!” Jack grinned up at him.

“Atta boy, now go back to your mother.”

“Wait, Uncle Arthur.”

“Yes Jack?”

“…Are you scared too?”

It would be so easy to lie to him, to play up some tough guy role but he couldn’t do that. He knew that not telling the truth wouldn’t help Jack at all. They all did their best to keep a brave face on for him but Arthur knew every last one of them was terrified. How couldn’t they be?

“I am,” he admitted.

“How do you act not scared?”

“Well, I…uh…I don’t really got time to think about it. Always tryin’ to make sure you and your ma and everybody else are taken care of. I suppose that’s how.”

“I’ll try to do more around camp too!” Jack said.

“You can start by listening to your ma,” Arthur laughed. Jack pulled a face.

“But she’ll have me read and not the fun books either.”

“Ah, reading ain’t all bad. Even when it’s the not fun ones,” Arthur said.

Jack looked like he doubted his words but said nothing. He stayed silent and grabbed the rim of Arthur’s hat with both of his hands.

“Okay.”

“Good boy. See ya, Jack.”

“Bye.”

At last Arthur got up into the saddle as Jack returned to Abigail. He turned Hades away and urged the horse into a walk, steering him towards the main entrance of the camp.

Charles had guard duty at the entry that morning. He saw Arthur approaching and opened the way for him, moving the rope away carefully so as not to cause a cacophony of noise that would alert anything or anybody nearby to their location.

“Be careful out there,” Charles said as Arthur passed by and crossed over the boundary of their camp. Arthur simply nodded back at him.

He would do his damned best.

**Author's Note:**

> Not much happened this chapter but this first chapter was more to establish the setting. Actual things will happen starting in ch.2. (The story is also more plot heavy than romance heavy but Arthur and Charles will have plenty of moments. Promise).
> 
> I know spurs aren't actually that loud but they are quite loud in game and zombies have pretty good hearing so there's that.
> 
> I really hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I hope you have a Merry Christmas if you celebrate. I will get chapter.2 out as quick as I can.
> 
> You can also find me on my [blog.](http://artemiisiia.tumblr.com)


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